All That Glisters Is Not Gold
by Transmigration
Summary: Yes, it's yet another Mary Sue parody. I would say sue me, but it'd be taken as a bad pun what other kind is there? and I'd be scorned forever. Watch the transformation of Miri, half human, half elf, half Veela, half unicorn, half not good at maths.


An elven-maid bowed low before Manwe and Varda. 

"So," said Manwe icily, "thou believest that thou canst rid the world of Sues, once and for all?"

"Yes and no. I, Alphmiriel Maecheneb, daughter to King Hargam and heir to the throne of Kerhelm, can rid the world of Sues once. Not for all. The sues are a plague, milord, one I alone cannot destroy."

"You do realise, Manwe, that Kerhelm isn't a right place?" whispered Elbereth. Alphmiriel's keen elvish ears picked up the remark, but she said nothing. She, an elven crown princess as well as a warrior, could never stoop to the level of the Valar. Oh no.

"Thou realisest that thou art also a Mary Sue?"

"Yes, milord. But Varda Elbereth," of course she could use a non-elven name here, she was half Valar, half elven, half Veela, half human, and half horrible at maths, "believes that if I get rid of the plague of Sues, my character will change. She says I shall either realise my flaws and ergo become a well-developed character, or realise my eternal fate and become a suicidal character. The whole thing sounds rather Camus to me, as I'm eternally well-read in French philosophy--"

"What _is_ she talking about, Varda?" Manwe hissed.

"--but I am willing to do your bidding." She bowed low, smacking her golden-tressed, pale head on the ground three times. There wouldn't be a bruise there today or tomorrow, even though she was paler than Luthien, just thin enough to be anorexic, but not quite veinous.

Manwe would have raised a cynical eyebrow, but that might have put his crown on a tilt. "I had no idea thou spok'st with my wife. How did I know this not?"

Alphmiriel basked in the triumph of knowing something beyond the Valar's comprehension. A golden glow seemed to shimmer from her hair and envelop her. There were lots of these things she had picked up on her travels. Even though she was only seventeen, her eyes glittered coldly with the knowledge of too many Tur--I mean, years. Like Pern. She was a dragon fangirl, and had personally met Smaug, who she called Smauth to his very much dislike. But, this didn't happen when the Valar were looking. Of course they wouldn't know about this.

"Erm..." _Oh, very eloquent,_ she scolded herself, rolling her eyes mentally. "There's something called the Law of Marysueageishness. The text, peradventure, runs similarly to 'Anything not specifically forbidden can and will happen'. In other terms, you conceivably may not have been informed, but that doesn't mean it hasn't occurred." Her vocabulary was kicked up a notch. EmerilLagasse appeared above her head for a moment, but she paid him no mind. He was a figment of somebody's imagination, and that made him worthless to her. Never mind the fact that she was, too, the horrible, horrible figment of a much worse one.

Manwe pretended to think. In reality, he had made up his mind quite quickly, but he needed to keep up his stoic image. Alphmiriel could tell all this, because she had uberpsychicskillz. "Thou mayst go. Destroy the Mary Sues or be destroyed." _Hopefully the latter,_ he added as a mental postscript. The elf could not be bothered to dignify the response (uberpsychicskillz again, perchance) and so she simply gazed upon him for some time, malachite and amythyst eyes reflecting hidden crepuscular depths.

Elbereth, sometimes thought of as kinder and less wordy than her husband--not her master, as we couldn't possibly be politically incorrect in describing a world invented by a man in the early 20th century, now could we?--stood. She took a sword from the wall. Mentally, Alphmiriel corrected the queen of the universe on her sword-grip.

"Use it well," Varda handed the sword to the elf. Stars glittered in her hair, but they couldn't match up to those in the elf's eyes as she turned it sideways. The blade was so thin it vanished, making it look similar to the sword-hilt the elven-maiden wore around her neck at all times. The only difference was that the necklace had a shard of elven-glass still attached to it (perhaps the choice of material was why the claymore broke in the first place?) with a gold skeleton key suspended in it. That one, though sharper even than this gift, never cut her. Alphmiriel ran a finger along the sword, cutting it to the bone. One touch to her forehead healed the line of red, though it had been deep enough to show silvery-white bone. Varda didn't point out the blood bindi that the gesture had left, and so Alphmiriel had no idea it existed.

"A blade of Feanor!" the elf exclaimed. Varda almost smirked. Alphmiriel was wrong about the weapon's origin, but the Vala said nothing. Elbereth removed her necklace. It was a shiny oval disk of mithril and elven-glass. Before putting the pendant on the elf, she looked her over.

Long, shiny, wavy blonde hair. Exceptionally long, shiny, and wavy blonde even for an elf. Not knee-length or anything like that; Alphmiriel was a warrioress. Still, too long to be waving a sword about with. Bright green eyes with a violet ring around the pupil. Tall and thin. A bit too thin. Somehow still muscular. Very, very pale. Blue veins pulsing in her temples. Definitely Sue traits. If Varda hadn't had a Vala's stomach, she would have been violently sick by now. She assumed that was where Manwe had vanished so quickly.

"You can do this, Alphmiriel. Go. Change. Be." Some heartening rubbish. Necessary, you see, or Alphmiriel might have realised something was slightly amiss. No, maybe not, Varda decided. Elf-creature was too dense. The elf had been looking at her as if she had wanted her to say something. Maybe it was the hole bored in Varda's shimmering white jacket by her pwnfulangrylasereyes.

"Please, call me Miri." Ew. Ew ew ew. A nickname that ended in 'i'. Varda was going to be sick if Alphmiriel didn't go away, and soon. Hastily she tightened the pendant so it hung just below the woman's chin, a bit too tight for comfort. Elbereth tied a complicated knot, and then shook her long, dark hair, turning away for a moment, paler even than usual. She turned back, breath coming in short, measured gasps.

"This necklace will let you go where we wish. Get rid of the twinks, Miri!" The nickname tasted of bile. A swirl of blue, coloured the odd cerulean of toilet cleaner, danced around the elf's tall form. Gusty winds blew through her hair, though either it didn't happen, or her hair was made of plastic, because the flowing golden curtain didn't tangle at all. Suddenly, the Valar and their hall no longer surrounded her.

Varda breathed a sigh of relief. Manwe strode out from behind a shimmering pillar, wiping his mouth. "Your hair's a mess," she remarked unkindly. Manwe stared at her petulantly and whined something unintelligibleabout what he'd just been through. "Pull yourself together," Elbereth ordered.

"Do you think we ought to tell her that a score of others have tried and failed miserably?" Manwe asked querulously. Elbereth looked at him as if he'd suddenly gone mad. She didn't seem to be able to decide whether to laugh or slap him. She chose the former, and the stars danced in the sky.

"Why would we ever do that?"


End file.
